


we've been migratory animals

by zach_stone



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bonding, Coming Out, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:43:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: As they reach the town limits, he sees the sign up ahead:You are now leaving Derry.A thrill shudders through him — they’re out. Things will be different now, no more deadlight-visions swallowing him up inside. Richie rolls down his window, and before anyone can do more than look at him quizzically, he unbuckles his seatbelt, lifts himself up out of his seat somewhat, and leans out the window to flip the sign off. “Fuck you!” he bellows. The wind whips his hair into his eyes, and he lets out a slightly manic laugh. Then he feels hands grabbing at his shirt, and Eddie is yanking him back into the car.--Or, the Losers take a road trip to Florida, and Richie's having nightmares from the deadlights that he can't seem to shake.





	we've been migratory animals

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello, i somehow unleashed another tidal wave of fix-it fic content for you all. if any of you read my last it fic, thank u so much for all ur nice responses, they have me shook. 
> 
> this one goes a slightly different route than my last one, but it's still a richie-centric post-canon fic because that's where i'm at right now. apologies to ben and bill for being a bit sidelined in this one, i still love u. 
> 
> anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

_ The deadlights are everywhere, inside him burning hot like he’s swallowed three suns, and then he can see Eddie, above him and gutted, blood raining from his mouth and spattering Richie’s face, and Eddie is dead, Eddie is — _

_ Eddie is above him, delighted, calling his name and babbling and Richie does not think before he wraps his arms around Eddie and rolls them both sideways. Not quite fast enough, and Its claw slices a deep, ragged gash down Eddie’s left arm and he screams in pain. Richie heaves him to his feet, and they’re running, and Eddie’s blood is all over the ground and all over them both and Richie throws up the moment they stop moving. All he sees is torn flesh and Eddie’s wide, terrified eyes and his mind can’t seem to separate Eddie bleeding and clutching his wounded arm from the Eddie that was skewered and bleeding onto Richie’s face — _

Richie shakes himself back into the present moment when the song on his phone switches over to “Tubthumping” and Bill and Mike both make loud exclamations of delight, while Eddie rolls his eyes and pretends he doesn’t love the stupid song. Richie forces himself to laugh, tipping his beer bottle in mock toast in Eddie’s direction. Eddie flips him off in response. They’re sitting in the library after hours, all six of them, celebrating Eddie’s release from the hospital with beer and whatever obnoxious songs Richie deigns to play from his phone. 

“Seriously, thank you guys for sticking around,” Eddie says, swallowing down the last of his beer and setting it on the floor beside his chair. “Especially you, Mike, I know you wanna get the hell out of here.”

Mike waves him off. “I wanted to make sure your arm healed up okay, Eddie, we all did.” The others hum in affirmation. “I won’t lie to you, though, I’m probably going to be heading out of here pretty soon.” 

“Where are you gonna go, Mikey?” Beverly asks. She’s sitting on the arm of Ben’s chair, resting her hand on his shoulder. 

“Florida,” Mike says, grinning. “Gonna get in my car and just drive down the coast ‘til I get to Orlando.” 

Richie watches the conversation unfold from his spot sitting on top of a table, scrolling through his phone to pick the next song. He can feel himself retreating from the group, even if he doesn’t exactly want to. He’s been in a fog since he dropped out of the deadlights, and his nightmares feel more vivid than reality sometimes. He can’t even look Eddie in the eye anymore. Richie thinks if he does then Eddie will be able to see the horrible visions behind Richie’s eyes, and understand exactly why they scare him so much. 

“Y’know, Mike, if it’s not too much trouble… I’d like to take that drive down with you,” Bill says. “I need to clear my head a bit before I go home, and you can’t really do that in Derry.”

“I’d love that,” Mike agrees. “Any of you can tag along if you want. It’d be nice to have some company.”

“I’ll go,” Eddie says. He sounds almost surprised to have said it, and shrinks in his chair when everyone looks at him. “I could use some time to clear my head too.” He glances at Richie. Richie quickly busies himself with his phone again.

Beverly squeezes Ben’s shoulder. “What do you say?” she asks. “Could be fun.”

“Yeah, I’m in,” Ben agrees. “Work can wait a few more days, they’ve survived this long without me.” 

All of them turn to Richie. “What about you, Rich?” Bev asks. “Wanna tag along?” 

“Oh, I don’t know…” Richie hesitates. 

“Come on, Richie,” Bill presses. “Everyone else is going.”

Maybe the nightmares will stop once he’s out of Derry. And driving to Florida sounds a hell of a lot more appealing than going back to his empty apartment. His agent might throttle him for ditching more tour dates, but what the hell. “Yeah, alright, I’ll go. Only because I know Eds would be just miserable without me.” 

“Oh, screw you, man,” Eddie says.

Mike claps his hands. “It’s a plan, then.” 

Later, when they’re preparing to head back to the inn, Mike pulls Richie aside. “I hope we didn’t pressure you into coming along.”

“No, no, I want to go,” Richie says. “Honestly, Mike, I do, it’s just, you know. Still sorting out the whole ‘balancing my old life now that I remember a killer clown’ shit.”

Mike huffs out a laugh. “I get that.” He folds his arms and eyes Richie curiously. “Hey, Rich. Are you happy?” 

Richie’s a little thrown by the question. “Huh?” 

“Are you happy with the way your life turned out? Before I brought you all here, I mean.”

“Oh.” Richie sticks his hands in the pockets of his jacket and purses his lips, considering. “Sure. I mean, I’ve got a Netflix special.”

“You do,” Mike says, nodding.

“Did you watch it?”

“Of course. I’ve been keeping up on all of you guys over the years.”

“So what’d you think?” Richie asks.

Mike smiles. “I’m gonna be honest only because I love you, Rich, but I think you were funnier as a kid.”

Richie clutches his hands to his chest. “Ouch, Mikey. That’s a deep cut.” He grins. “You’re probably right though.”

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Mike says. Then, sobering, he adds, “But that’s not really an answer.”

Richie feels his shoulders starting to hunch defensively. “Sure it is. I have a fuckin’ _ Netflix special _, man. That’s the dream, right? Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“Okay,” Mike says, holding up his hands in surrender. “You’d know better than me.” He walks Richie to the door, where everyone else is already outside and piling into their cars. “Goodnight, Rich.”

“Night,” Richie says, feeling out of sorts.

Later, in his room at the inn, Richie lays in bed and stares up at the ceiling. _ Are you happy? _He knows the answer, and he doesn’t like it one bit. Life was much easier when he didn’t remember why he’s so painfully lonely. Cursing Mike under his breath, Richie rolls over and shuts his eyes. He dreams of the deadlights and Eddie’s mangled corpse. 

Bill and Mike work out a route that will take them about four days of driving to complete. They rent a minivan and everyone piles into it with all of their belongings crammed in the trunk. Richie teases Eddie mercilessly for how much luggage he has, although he does also insist on carrying everything for Eddie, because of his arm. Then Ben and Beverly take the front seat, Eddie and Richie take the middle row, and Mike and Bill clamber into the back, and they’re off. Richie watches as they pass by the Chinese restaurant, the arcade, the park and the Paul Bunyan statue… for as much as these places were wholly erased from his mind the past few decades, Richie thinks they’re burned in there now.

As they reach the town limits, he sees the sign up ahead: _ You are now leaving Derry _. A thrill shudders through him — they’re out. Things will be different now, no more deadlight-visions swallowing him up inside. Richie rolls down his window, and before anyone can do more than look at him quizzically, he unbuckles his seatbelt, lifts himself up out of his seat somewhat, and leans out the window to flip the sign off. “Fuck you!” he bellows. The wind whips his hair into his eyes, and he lets out a slightly manic laugh. Then he feels hands grabbing at his shirt, and Eddie is yanking him back into the car. Beverly and Mike and are laughing, and Bill slaps him on the back as he falls into his seat again. 

“Put on your seatbelt, you lunatic,” Eddie grumbles. “Was that necessary?” 

“Crucial,” Richie affirms. “Hey, I’m allowed to be excited, alright? We’re finally getting out of that hellhole.”

“We’ve been out of there for 27 years, dumbass,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah, but not like, _ out _-out, nothing tying us to it anymore.” For emphasis, Richie lifts his hand, the palm that had once held his blood oath scar facing Eddie, and wiggles his fingers. Eddie shoves his hand back down. Then he leans across Richie to buckle his seatbelt for him, muttering obscenities under his breath the whole time. His chest presses momentarily against Richie’s, and Richie’s heart starts pounding so hard he’s sure Eddie can feel it. As Eddie clicks the seatbelt into place, he glances up at Richie, and when their eyes lock —

_ dead dead eddie is dead and his eyes are wide and dark and glassy, vacant like a light behind a window has been snuffed out _

— Richie flinches, and Eddie jerks back quickly, his face flushing. “I gotta do everything for you, it’s like you’re a toddler,” Eddie mutters, even though Richie definitely didn’t ask him to buckle his seatbelt for him. Richie’s trying not to have a panic attack, because they’ve left the Derry city limits and the image from the deadlights still hit him clear as day — he wasn’t even spacing out this time, he was oh-so-very in the present moment with Eddie all up in his personal space like that. He fidgets with his seatbelt for something to do with his hands. Maybe leaving Derry behind is going to be harder than he thought.

They stop at a McDonald’s around sunset, because Mike, Ben, and Bill are complaining about being hungry and Eddie has been saying he needs to pee for the last 45 minutes. Beverly and Richie stay behind, and Richie watches with an aching fondness as Eddie fast-walks to keep up with Ben’s long strides and yammers on about how dangerous it is to make someone hold in their pee for so long and Ben _ really _should’ve pulled over sooner.

Beverly’s sitting on the hood of the minivan, looking out at the sunset. Richie turns away from watching the others walk into the McDonald’s and sits down next to her. The sky is going from dusky purple to a line of gold on the horizon, where the last remnants of the sun are sinking out of view. Beverly pulls out a cigarette and lights it, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. For a moment they sit in companionable silence. 

Never able to handle quiet for very long, Richie looks sidelong at Bev and says, in his best approximation of an old-timey radio show host Voice, “Penny for your thoughts, Miss Marsh?” 

Bev smiles at his shitty Voice, because that’s the kind of friend she is, and then she says softly and without looking at him, “I was just thinking… you know, I don’t think I’ve ever let myself experience love that didn’t hurt me.” 

“Bev, if we’re about to share our kinks right now —” Richie starts, because he can’t help himself.

She just sighs tiredly. “Beep beep, Rich.”

“Sorry.” Richie clamps his mouth shut and gestures for her to continue. Bev takes another drag from her cigarette.

“My husband — _ ex _husband — he treated me like shit. Beat me up, called me a liar over nothing. Just like my father.” She lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m sick of it. I don’t want to live like that anymore.”

“Well, hey, it’s never too late to change your life, right?” Richie offers hesitantly. “I mean shit, Bev, you _ left _ that creep. You did that!” 

She looks at him, her expression less morose than it had been a moment before. “I did. Fuck him.”

“Hell yeah,” Richie says. He nudges her, and she finally relents with a smile. “And I gotta say, Ben is a _ big _upgrade in the nice department. He’s like, sickeningly nice.” She laughs, swatting him, and he grins at her. “Things are gonna be good for you now, Bev. You deserve good.” 

“Thanks, Richie.” She leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes I think the happiest time of my life was that summer with all of you when we were kids. I’d never been more scared, and until last week I hadn’t ever been that scared since, but… I don’t think I’d ever been that happy before or after, either. I didn’t realize it until I was back with everyone in Derry, how I just — I feel like I’m a whole person when I’m with you all.” Her voice quivers and she pauses, clearing her throat. “I know that sounds so ridiculous and codependent —”

“No, no,” Richie interjects. “I mean, I think we all feel that way, right? And, I don’t know, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to need other people. I feel like after 27 years we’ve earned a little codependence.” 

Beverly lifts her head to look at him with a funny kind of smile. “That’s the most sincere I think I’ve ever heard you, Trashmouth.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone. I have a dirtbag reputation to uphold.” He holds out his hand to her, palm up, and she laces their fingers together. He’s reminded of the blood oath, and he squeezes her hand a little tighter. 

“Hey. I love you, Rich,” Bev says.

He ducks his head. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.” Then, hesitantly, “Hey, Bev? Are you still having those nightmares? Like you did before?”

She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t had a single one since we killed It. I think they’re gone for good.”

“Hm, that’s good,” Richie says nervously. “Okay, but, when you _ were _having those dreams… how did Eddie die?”

“Richie!”

“Bev, seriously, just — can you please tell me? Was it Pennywise who did it, in your dreams?”

She lets go of his hand. “Rich, no, come on, I really don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t matter anyway, none of that’s going to happen now. It’s over.” She looks alarmed, and a little hurt, and he sighs.

“Okay, whatever, sorry. I’m sorry.” 

She looks like she’s about to press him for more, but the rest of the Losers arrive, trailing out of the McDonald’s, and Eddie is loudly complaining to anyone who will listen about the unsanitary bathrooms, so Beverly just gives Richie a lingering look of concern before she drops it. 

The hotel they end up in for the night has two rooms available with two queen-size beds in each. They spend a few hours in one of the rooms together, eating shitty takeout food and arguing over what to watch on TV. At one point Richie is wedged between Bev and Mike on one of the beds while they watch Eddie and Bill attempt to remember a secret handshake from when they were in first grade, and Ben takes about a dozen pictures of Eddie getting more and more irritated and flinging his arms around. It feels safe and happy the way a good dream does; Richie keeps expecting to jolt awake and find himself in the dank darkness of the sewers, flat on his back with Eddie peering down at him right before the clawed arm — 

He stops that train of thought and throws a pillow at Bill’s head instead.

Eventually, everyone’s tuckered themselves out enough that they split off into their separate rooms. Mike, Ben, and Beverly are sharing one room, while Richie, Eddie, and Bill share the other. As soon as they walk into their room, Richie yells, “I call one of the beds!”

“You dick,” Eddie retorts, watching with his arms crossed as Richie launches himself onto the bed closest to the door and flops his limbs out like a starfish. 

“It’s okay, Eddie, I’ll take the couch,” Bill says easily. “Your arm’s still healing, you should sleep in a real bed.” 

“Thanks, Bill,” Eddie says with a smile, before rounding on Richie again. “Get your shoes off the fuckin’ bed, man, aren’t those the same ones you wore in the fucking sewers?” 

“Fussy,” Richie comments, sitting up to yank off his shoes and toss them into the corner. “Is it past Eddie-bear’s bedtime?” 

“Fuck you.” Eddie grabs a pillow from his bed and whips it toward Richie, who catches it full in the face and makes a muffled “oomf” sound. Eddie laughs, and Richie’s heart soars. 

After their initial bickering dies down, the three of them get ready for bed fairly quickly. It’s been a long day of driving, and this is a far more comfortable hotel than the inn back in Derry. Richie delights in teasing Eddie about his honest-to-god _ plaid pajamas _ , before being thoroughly roasted by both Eddie _ and _Bill for wearing a T-shirt with the title of his own standup special across the chest. He has another one packed that has his face on it, but he figures he’s gotta build up to that one. Eddie’ll have a conniption. 

“Lights off?” Bill asks as he makes his way to the couch. Eddie and Richie both hum the affirmative and Bill clicks off the light, plunging the room into semi-darkness that’s broken up by the streetlights bleeding through the blinds that cover the sliding door to the balcony. 

“Sleep tight, don’t let the sewer clown bite,” Richie says. This time it’s Bill who throws a pillow at him. Richie throws it back to him before he sets his glasses on the nightstand and settles in, hugging an extra pillow to his chest and silently praying that whatever nightmare he has tonight at least leaves him with the dignity to wake up quietly. 

It’s barely been ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door. The silhouette of Bill’s head pops up over the back of the couch, and he calls out, “Yeah?”

“It’s Mike. Can I come in?”

Richie kicks back the covers and stumbles over to the door, pulling it open. Mike is standing there barefoot, in his pajamas, and looking slightly sheepish. 

“What can I do you for, Mikey?” Richie asks.

“Ben and Bev kicked me out of the room for some private time, so I was hoping I could sleep in here,” Mike says.

Richie cackles, stepping aside to let Mike into the room. “What, they didn’t ask you to join them? How inconsiderate.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie, that’s disgusting,” Eddie grumbles from his bed.

“_ Eddie _,” Richie admonishes. “There is nothing wrong with threesomes, how dare you kinkshame Bev and Ben like this.”

“Except they _ didn’t _ask Mike for a threesome so I’m not fucking kinkshaming them, dipshit.” Eddie’s voice is getting progressively louder, and Bill lets out a weary sigh.

“Cool it, you two. Mike, you can stay in here, it’s fine,” Bill says.

“Thanks,” Mike says. He glances around. “I can just kick it on the floor, if you give me a blanket…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Richie says. “Here, you can have my bed.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Where are you sleeping, then?”

“Don’t worry, Eddie will share with me,” Richie says, marching over and flinging back the covers on Eddie’s bed. Eddie lets out a startled yelp that Richie ignores in favor of jabbing him to scoot over. To his surprise, Eddie actually does. “See? Eds is so tiny, it’s like I don’t even know he’s there.”

“Shut up before I change my mind about this,” Eddie says.

Still seeming uncertain but probably too tired to argue, Mike gets into the other bed. Richie pulls the covers over himself and Eddie, and after a few moments of awkward shuffling to get comfortable, the room falls silent again.

It doesn’t take long for Richie to start internally freaking out. Contrary to what he told Mike, he’s actually hyper-aware of Eddie’s proximity, and of how Eddie will be able to feel every twitch of Richie’s body. He’s been able to hide his nightmares from the others so far, but there’ll be no hiding it if he has one with Eddie five inches from him. God, why did he have to be a jackass and crawl into Eddie’s bed in the first place? He stays perfectly still, arms stiff at his sides, and stares up at the blurry darkness of the hotel ceiling.

“Richie,” Eddie whispers after a second. “Are you still awake?”

Richie quickly shuts his eyes. “Uh. No.”

“I just saw your eyes open two seconds ago, asshole.”

Richie opens his eyes again to squint incredulously at Eddie in the dark. He can’t make out a single feature on his face. “Do you have night vision now or something?”

Eddie pokes him in the shoulder. Richie bats his hand away. With an annoyed huff, Eddie smacks Richie’s arm. This quickly devolves into the two of them having a slap-fight while laying on their backs in the bed, and their hissed insults get progressively louder until Mike, his voice gravelly with sleep, grumbles, “Guys. Shut the hell up.”

They freeze, and then Eddie rolls away from Richie so he can muffle his laughter into his pillow. Richie snickers into his hands, and it takes both of them a bit to calm down again. Eddie quiets, and Richie thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep when suddenly the covers are being kicked down and Eddie is pulling on his arm.

“What the fuck, man?” Richie whispers.

“If you’re not gonna sleep, we’re not just gonna lay here,” Eddie hisses back. “Come on, get up.” 

Mostly so they don’t incur Mike’s wrath, Richie allows Eddie to drag him out of bed and lead him out onto the balcony. Once they’re both outside and the door is shut behind them, Eddie drags the two patio chairs closer to each other and drops down into one, pulling his knees up to his chest before gesturing to the other one. Richie takes a seat, looking at the blurry outline of Eddie with his arms loosely hugging his knees, and is suddenly _ very _ glad that he left his glasses on the nightstand inside. If he can pretend that he can’t see Eddie, it makes him less panicked. 

“You wanna talk about what’s on your mind?” Eddie asks.

“Nope.”

Eddie sighs. Cars pass on the road below them, and the tires make a soft _ hsss _ as they pass through leftover rainwater puddled in the street. Richie closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his face. He’s exhausted. 

“What were you like in college?” Eddie asks suddenly. 

Richie frowns. “Huh?”

“In college,” Eddie repeats. “Come on, I went 27 years without knowing shit about you, I’m trying to fill in the gaps. Who was Trashmouth Tozier circa 1994?” 

“Well first of all, I appreciate that you think I went to college.”

“It’s on your wikipedia page.”

Richie gives the vaguely Eddie-shaped blur beside him a pointed look. “Okay, stalker much?”

Eddie shoves his shoulder. “Shut up, dickwad, just tell me.”

Richie pauses for a moment, considering. He’s trying to think of the funniest, snarkiest way to respond, but instead of being glib he finds himself telling the truth. “I was… really fucking lonely, honestly.”

Eddie makes a quiet noise of disbelief. “What, for real? I thought you’d have had like, a whole entourage.”

“Nah, it wasn’t like that.” Richie rubs the back of his neck, self-conscious. “I, uh, I got into this comedy club my freshman year, and my stuff was just… it was dogshit, honestly. Turns out when you can’t remember your childhood, you don’t have a lot to draw material from as an 18-year-old. But I kept going and bombing every night until this guy came up to me and was like, ‘hey man, I like your energy, can I write your jokes?’ And the guy’s jokes were also dogshit, to be clear. Just the most basic gutter trash of comedy, but the club ate it up.” He laughs humorlessly. “And _ then _I had an entourage, but it was just people who wanted me to be funny at parties. After I graduated I got an agent and, you know, got into the real comedy scene. But I wouldn’t call any of those people my friends.”

“Jesus, Rich.”

“It’s not like, _ they’re laughing at me instead of with me _ or some tragic bullshit, they just want me around because I make money. They don’t, like, give a shit about me.” Richie’s not sure why he’s telling Eddie all of this, except that when he gets going sometimes his mouth doesn’t know when to stop, and he keeps thinking about what Bev said earlier about feeling like a whole person when she’s with the Losers. He hadn’t realized it until she said so, but Richie’s felt fragmented for years. “So that’s my sob story, what about you?” he says, deflecting before Eddie can come up with something pitying to say. 

Eddie is frowning at him, Richie can tell even without his glasses on. “Well, I was a business major,” Eddie says.

“Ha! God, I would’ve hated you just on principle.”

“You know I visited some California schools my senior year?” Eddie says. “We almost could’ve gone to the same college.” There’s a wistful sort of sadness in his voice. “Too bad we wouldn’t have remembered each other.”

Richie smiles slightly. Before he can stop himself, he says, “Oh, I dunno. I think maybe I would’ve remembered you anyway. Fuck that clown curse.” 

Eddie laughs, which Richie has always counted as the sweetest of victories ever since they were kids, but all too soon it fades, and Eddie grows serious again. “Rich, I gotta tell you something.”

Richie looks at him, squinting. “Yeah, of course, buddy. What’s up?”

“Before I came to Derry, I… I left my wife.”

There is a silence that lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like an eon. Richie clears his throat. “Oh. Really?” 

“Yeah. When I started remembering, I just — I don’t know, I guess I always knew she reminded me of my mother and I knew it wasn’t a healthy relationship but I forgot that I could stand up to that, you know? I forgot I _ had _stood up to that, once. That’s why I have so much shit with me, by the way. It’s like, everything I own. Anyway, I kind of assumed I was going to die fighting that fucking clown, so I figured, what’ve I got to lose?” He laughs weakly. 

Richie feels something twist uncomfortably in his stomach at that. “Well hey, good news, you lived after all.”

“There’s a lot of shit I’ve been coming to terms with,” Eddie says, raising his voice slightly, talking over Richie. “About myself. And how I don’t wanna live like I’ve been living, it’s been almost thirty fucking years and I don’t — I don’t want to pretend anymore, you know? Do you get what I’m saying, Rich?” Eddie stops, staring at Richie with a naked sort of desperation that is achingly familiar, because Richie has felt it in himself all his life. It says _ see me, please see me _, and Richie thinks for a shivery, hopeful moment that he does.

“Rich,” Eddie says again. He’s scooted his chair close enough now that Richie can make out more of his features: the way his dark eyes are looking into Richie’s but keep darting down to his mouth. “Do you get it?”

And because Eddie’s finally within reach, or because Richie keeps seeing him die in his dreams, or because words for once in Richie’s life have failed him, he reaches out to take Eddie’s face in his hands and kisses him. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, pressing in to deepen the kiss and opening his mouth. One hand threads through Richie’s hair, and Richie can feel the healing scar on Eddie’s cheek beneath his fingers, can feel the scrape of stubble along his jaw. They kiss until Richie feels dizzy and has to pull back for air, and Eddie’s forehead knocks against his. 

“Something like that?” Richie says breathlessly.

Eddie’s expression is soft in a way he so often isn’t, and this close Richie’s going slightly cross-eyed trying to take in every detail. One hand still rests against Eddie’s uninjured cheek, and he smooths his thumb over the skin there. Eddie is warm, and he is —

_ — bleeding from his mouth, bleeding from his chest, and Richie feels like _ he’s _ the one who’s been stabbed because everything inside him is wrenching apart — _

“Richie.” Eddie’s voice startles him back into focus. Richie’s eyes are damp. “Hey. Tell me what’s wrong, dude.” His face is no longer soft; the familiar crease of concern has returned between his eyebrows. 

“I, uh, it’s nothing. I’ve just been having nightmares,” Richie says, embarrassed by the raspiness of his own voice. He blames at least some of that on the kissing. 

Eddie’s look of alarm intensifies. “Like, deadlight-visions? Or just regular trauma nightmares?” 

“How in the fuck should I know?” Richie demands. “Bev says her visions stopped, so it’s probably just regular nightmares, okay, they just — they really suck.” He sighs and leans away from Eddie so he can put his face in his hands. “I don’t wanna talk about it, man, I told you.” 

“Well, you need to sleep, Richie, and _ I’m _ not going to be able to sleep if you’re laying there next to me all stiff like you’ve got fucking rigor mortis, okay, and I don’t know if you’re aware of the serious health problems that lack of sleep can cause, but at the _ very least _I’m already developing an eye twitch —”

Richie laughs, just a weak chuckle at first until suddenly he’s fully cracking up, and Eddie stops mid-sentence while Richie cackles like a maniac in the middle of the night. 

“What’s so fucking funny? Shut up, Mike’s gonna come out here and throw us over the balcony,” Eddie says.

“Oh, Eddie Spaghetti, you are just too much,” Richie says, wiping a tear from his eye. “You just confessed your undying lust for me —”

“That is _ not _what I said, that was a serious moment —”

“— and then you made out with me —”

“_ You _ kissed _ me _!” 

“— and now you’re lecturing me about _ eye twitches _,” Richie concludes. He pinches Eddie’s cheek fondly, and Eddie swats his hand away. “I fuckin’ love you, man, I really do.” 

Eddie turns red, and Richie can tell even in the dark. “Yeah, me too,” he murmurs. He grabs Richie’s hand. “Whatever your dreams are, Rich, they’re just dreams. We’re all fine, and we’re gonna continue to be fine, and you’re going to come inside with me right now and go to bed, okay?” 

“Ooh, Eds, so forward. Are we gonna make Mike and Bill sleep in the hallway?” Richie teases. Eddie, for once in his life, doesn’t rise to the bait; he just gives Richie a very stern look, and Richie deflates. “Okay, okay, fine. Sheesh, you find out your best friend’s been horny for you for thirty years and you can’t even get lucky.” 

“You’re _ lucky _ I don’t make _ you _sleep in the hallway,” Eddie mutters, but he hoists Richie to his feet with his good arm and then keeps his hand there, in Richie’s. Neither of them comment on it as they creep back into the hotel room, and they only let go so they can get into bed again. They roll onto their sides so they can face each other, so close that Richie can feel the warmth of Eddie’s breath against his face as he exhales a long, slow sigh. 

“Hey Eds,” Richie whispers. “How did you… know?”

Eddie doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to. “I don’t know. I think I mostly just hoped.” He smiles, and Richie sees the glint of his teeth in the dark. “So I’m relieved you made the first move.” 

“What can I say, I’m a man of action, not words.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Well _ that’s _just bullshit. You’re a man of too many words.” He closes the small gap between them with a soft, quick press of the lips, and then his hand comes to rest on Richie’s ribcage. “Now can we please go to sleep?” 

Richie squeezes his eyes shut for a second and then opens them again. Eddie is watching his face. “Okay. G’night, Eds.” 

“Night, Rich.” Eddie shuts his eyes and worms his way even closer, his head tucked under Richie’s chin, and Richie’s heart hammers against the walls of his chest. Carefully, still not quite convinced this is all real, he puts his arm around Eddie and shuts his eyes.

He doesn’t sleep. 

By the morning, they’ve shifted so Richie is on his back and Eddie’s head is pillowed on his chest. Eddie, Richie learned over the course of the night, occasionally snores, and also drools. At one point he twitched in his sleep and scared the ever-loving shit out of Richie, but then he’d actually nuzzled his face against Richie’s shirt and Richie almost combusted right then and there. One positive to making himself stay awake all night to avoid the night terrors, Richie thinks, is that he didn’t miss out on a single one of the weird cute things Eddie does in his sleep. 

Mike wakes up first, and Richie pulls the covers a little higher over himself and Eddie so it’s not obvious that they’re cuddling. He pretends to be asleep while he listens to Mike putter around and wake up Bill.

Bill comes over next to Richie and Eddie’s bed. “Guys,” he whispers. “Complementary breakfast only lasts another hour, we’re gonna head down.”

“Mmhm,” Richie grunts, keeping his eyes shut. He hears Bill walk away, and a moment later he and Mike leave the room, talking quietly to each other all the while. 

Eddie shifts, kicking Richie in the shin, and then says in a muffled voice, “Why is my head underneath the blankets?”

“Oh, sorry,” Richie says, pulling the covers down again to reveal Eddie’s ridiculous bedhead and his perfect, frowning face. “I was hiding us from Mike and Bill.”

“Trying to smother me,” Eddie mutters. He pushes himself up on an elbow and scrubs at his eye with his other hand. “I guess we didn’t really… talk about this, did we?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m like, ashamed of you or something,” Richie says quickly. “I mean, honestly, Eddie, of all the neurotic twinks I could’ve bagged, you’re definitely number one —”

“I am not a _ twink _,” Eddie protests. 

“Eddie, my love, you absolutely are,” Richie says.

A funny look crosses Eddie’s face. “Now there’s one I haven’t heard in a while. I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were like, ten.” 

“Yeahhhh, when we hit middle school it got less funny because I realized it was true,” Richie admits, averting his eyes. “Maybe it’ll make a comeback, though.” 

“I… wouldn’t hate that,” Eddie says. “And we don’t have to tell anyone. Not ‘til you’re ready.” 

Richie smiles and leans up with the intention of kissing him, but is stopped short by a yawn so wide his jaw pops. Eddie squints suspiciously at him.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he demands.

“Uhhhh.” 

“Richie!” Eddie smacks his shoulder. “What the hell! You can’t just _ not sleep _, do you understand that? You will literally die. And that is a medical fact, okay, you can google it —”

“I’m not gonna google it, you nutcase. Be nice to me, alright, I’m traumatized.” Richie fumbles around to grab his glasses from the nightstand, shoving them on. Eddie’s face comes into irritable focus. 

“We’re all traumatized, dipshit, that doesn’t mean you get to develop insomnia because you refuse to talk about your nightmares, okay? I’m not allowing that to happen.” 

“You don’t know what I saw!” Richie says, louder and angrier than he means to. Eddie falls silent, eyes wide, and Richie sighs. He sits up fully in bed and massages his temples. “If you’d been caught in the deadlights, you wouldn’t want to sleep either. Just trust me.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says quietly. “I was just trying to help.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Richie says, feeling like shit at the kicked-puppy expression on Eddie’s face. “I’m just being a dick. You’re right.” 

Eddie puts his hand on the back of Richie’s neck and leans up to kiss his forehead. It’s a small, brief gesture, but the tenderness of it catches Richie off guard and he feels his eyes start to water. He keeps Eddie close, just sort of resting his face against Eddie’s, and for a moment they just breathe together. _ He’s here, and he’s alive, and this is real _, Richie tells himself over and over. For maybe the first time in days, he starts to believe it. 

They’re all rowdier in the car when they get back on the road — it’s as if the further they get from Derry, the less weighted down all of them feel. Mike seems positively giddy, thrilled by the glimpses of the coastline and even the stupid tourist attractions along the way. Ben suggests they play some road trip games, but after a chaotic round of punch buggy, Beverly just puts on music.

Richie watches trees flash past his window, tall and imposing. It’s been a long time since he’s been back on this side of the country — he’d forgotten how the highways can feel walled in at times, when all you can see is the green of the forest. He rests his forehead against the window, feeling his eyes drift shut and being too exhausted to do anything but let it happen. 

In his dream, he is flat on his back in the cistern, and Eddie is crouching above him, a hand against his face, smiling. And Richie does what he wanted to do then but has never done in any of his dreams before: he grabs the front of Eddie’s shirt and pulls him down into a kiss. Pennywise isn’t here, Richie realizes, and neither are the other Losers. It’s just the two of them, kissing in the dark, and Eddie is warm and breathing against him. Richie feels like he could take on the stupid clown with his bare hands, and he thinks maybe he already has. 

He wakes up to Eddie shaking him, and unsticks his cheek from the window with a groan. Eddie looks at him with a poorly suppressed smirk.

“You’ve got a red mark,” Eddie says, touching his face before quickly withdrawing his hand. Richie realizes the car has stopped, and everyone is getting out. “We’re at a rest stop, do you need to go to the bathroom or anything?” 

“Mm, nah I’m okay. Could use a walk though, I think.” Richie unbuckles his seatbelt and winces at the stiffness of his knees when he starts to get out of the car. “Walk with me, Eds.”

The rest stop is just a parking lot with a food court and bathrooms, but there’s a little sidewalk path that the two of them can walk around. There are a fair few other cars in the lot and people milling around, but mostly everyone is in the food court. Richie swings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, tugging him close to his side, and Eddie makes an obligatory squawk of protest before doing absolutely nothing escape Richie’s embrace. 

“God, why do all of my bones hurt,” Richie complains.

“Because you’ve been sitting in a car for hours and you’re forty,” Eddie says, finally worming his way out from under Richie’s arm, but sticking close to him. “Hate to break it to you, Rich, but we’re old now.”

“Speak for yourself, man, I’m in my _ prime _ right now,” Richie says. 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Hey, so did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, actually,” Richie says. 

“Good,” Eddie says, in his most smug I-told-you-so voice. “It would’ve been _ better _ if you’d slept in an actual _ bed, _ but I’ll take what I can get at this point.” 

Richie watches him out of the corner of his eye. His most recent dream has shifted something in him, unlocked something vulnerable, and he says, “In my nightmares, I see you die in the cistern.”

Eddie’s smirk drops off his face immediately. “You what?”

“When I was in the deadlights, I saw you die. It fucking — impaled you, I don’t know, it was awful, and when you got me out I didn’t have time to think about anything, I just got you out of the way. But I keep seeing you die, over and over, and it’s really starting to fuck with me, you know? I was so scared I was gonna wake up in that place again and I wouldn’t be quick enough — but I think maybe it’s okay now. I don’t know, I’ll probably have the dream again but I don’t feel like you’re going to disappear if I blink anymore.” He shrugs. They’ve stopped walking, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, and Eddie is staring at him.

“Oh,” he says finally. “Wait, so. Okay. This isn’t like Beverly’s premonition shit, right?” 

“Considering we wrecked that clown’s shit and the cistern fell apart, I’m gonna go ahead and say _ no _,” Richie says. “It’s just been fucking me up because, you know, that’s my worst fear. Not fucking clowns or whatever the fuck, it’s. That. That’s my number one. And I already lost you for like three fucking decades, I can’t — I can’t do it again.” 

“You didn’t,” Eddie insists. “You won’t.”

“Well I know that _ now _,” Richie says. He shakes his head. “You ever feel like we’ve all been on pause for the past 27 years? Like ever since I moved away, I feel like I’ve been stuck in the same place and now I finally get to actually be a person. Maybe that’s just me, I don’t know.” 

“I know what you mean,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “Although maybe that’s just being in the closet.”

Richie snorts. “Yeah, I guess it could really go either way with us.” He thinks back to what he said to Beverly: _ it’s never too late to change your life. _“Fuck that, though, right? I’ve had enough making myself miserable for one lifetime.” 

Eddie takes Richie’s hand and squeezes it hard, and Richie loves him. 

The rest of the road trip is maybe the most fun Richie — or any of them — has had in years. They stop at tacky tourist traps and make obnoxious spectacles of themselves at restaurants where they all cram into the same booth, and at night they stay up sitting pressed together in their hotel rooms and sharing stories and memories, feeling like they’re all 13 again, bonded in that fierce way that childhood friends are. 

When they arrive in Orlando, Bill drives them directly to the nearest beach and parks the car. The sand and ocean sprawl out in front of them, and he turns to Mike in the passenger seat and says with a grin, “Mike Hanlon, welcome to Florida.” 

Everyone piles out of the car, and when Beverly pulls off her shoes and runs barefoot into the sand, the others follow suit. Mike goes all the way up to the water’s edge, letting the tide rush up to cover his feet before it pulls back again. He’s staring out at the horizon, and when the others come to stand beside him it’s clear that he’s crying, but he’s smiling too. 

“You know when I was a kid, I only left Derry two or three times in my whole life, and that was just to a couple towns over,” he says, wiping his eyes. “I’ve never been this far. I’ve never seen this ocean.” He looks around at all of them. “Thank you. There’s no one else I’d rather be sharing this with right now.” 

“Aw, Mikey,” Ben says, putting his arm around him. Beverly does, too, and then all of them are hugging Mike and hugging each other, and Richie’s chest feels so full of emotion, it's like he’s cracking open. He presses his face against Bill’s shoulder, feels Eddie’s arm around his waist. 

“I love you guys so much, you know,” Mike says.

“I’m gay,” Richie blurts out.

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Eddie snorts. “Now?” he says, laughter in his voice. “You choose _ now _to come out?”

“We’re all having a nice moment! It felt like the right time!” Richie exclaims.

The others start to chuckle, too, and someone — he thinks maybe it’s Beverly — ruffles Richie’s hair. They all hug each other tighter before breaking apart, standing in a line looking out at the ocean. When Richie was a kid he was at once mesmerized and terrified by the vastness of it, how the horizon seemed to stretch out forever with no end. Now, he finds comfort in the fact that he can’t see the end. There’s a hell of a lot of world out there, and they’re all free to experience it. Eddie takes his hand and leans against him, reassuring and solid and _ there _, and Richie feels that swelling in his chest again. Mike had asked him back at the inn if he was happy, and Richie thinks that now, he can finally answer yes.

**Author's Note:**

> title from obstacles by syd matters. 
> 
> comments very much appreciated!!! <3 i'm also on twitter @hermanngottiieb and tumblr @joshuawashinton if you want to say hello. thanks for reading! see y'all in this tag again soon i'm sure


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